


Golden Cityscapes

by callmeflo



Series: Gang Patches [6]
Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen, autumn lights event, firefly adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeflo/pseuds/callmeflo
Summary: The fireflies are leading the little pansies away from their shrine.
Series: Gang Patches [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556458
Kudos: 1





	1. a Bountiful Harvest

Fireflies are common in forests, even in one that sprawls its way beneath main roads and heavily trodden footpaths to end in the centre of a bustling city - so long as there’s tree trunks and flowery glades for them to joyfully light up, space to dance in like faeries on the night of the summer **solstice** , teasing the mesmerised humans. But there’s something unusual about this particular swarm of lightning bugs.

Perhaps it’s the way their lights pulse as if they’re trying to communicate in code, or how they seem to shimmer from their usual pale yellow to vibrant reds and blues out the corner of an eye, or maybe it’s that they seem to be tugging at Lyra’s very soul, pulling her along on a mysterious adventure.

She’ll go, of course.

There’s nothing Lyra loves more than being on the move, exploring everything there is to explore, traveling every path there is to travel. And she’s not the only one caught up in these creatures’ magic - a quiet cacophony is ever present behind her, the gentle, comforting noises of her beloved companions, the family she’d always dreamed of and finally had and sometimes still couldn’t believe were real.

The wilting purple pansy on her head perks up at the thought. It often droops at the edges on this side of the highway, where humans venture infrequently. It’s too far to walk from downtown, but too close to the city to want to hike here. For the little esk, it’s ideal - the old, forgotten shrine that is their home is draped with ivy and surrounded by wildflowers, on an unkept trail that belongs now to the spirits alone.

The fireflies are leading the little pansies away from their shrine now, taking a winding path through the beautiful, feral undergrowth, the silhouette of skyscrapers looming ever larger through the branches before them.

Isi is the biggest of them, but they’re a tiny group overall and so have a more troublesome journey than most esk would. Lyra’s dainty three-toed paws pitter patter over pebbles and dirt and detritus, ducking and leaping to clear twigs and branches, weaving between tree root mazes and thick, **dew** -dotted shrubbery leaves. She watches her step carefully, which is the only reason she notices the abundance of dropped berries, their red skins wrinkly and withered to bare the hard seeds at the centres.

And they’re not strewn randomly like some rude blackbird had gotten greedy, but instead they dot a long line as far as her intent black gaze can see, until they **trickle** away beneath a thicket of fern fronds. Lyra’s streaked tail bobs behind her like a flag as she bounds forward, diving face first into the vegetation and wiggling her way free.

On the far side is an open clearing coated in a rug of short, lush grass. The berries are everywhere, **red** mixed with blues and purples and greens, a messy galaxy of seeds ready for sprouting. So focused is she on nosing at a squishy cherry that the approach of her friends surprises her - she leaps into the air in fright, spinning to face the excitedly twitching whiskers of her opossum familiar, Pearl, and the bundle of esk that tumble out from the bracken behind her. 

Thimble is first in line, with the unruly, scruffy-petaled Void being dragged along by the tail, and she gasps aloud as they emerge from behind Pearl’s fluffy fur, her huge eyes widening further in awe. Lyra turns in confusion - only to find that the seeds have all turned into fully grown bushes, sprouting strong from the grassy floor in an array of sparkling greens.

Every branch hangs heavy and proud with a multitude of fresh, ripe **berries** and the magical fireflies have landed amongst them, their rainbow glow enchanting the entire clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> berries + solstice + red + dew + trickle
> 
> Base Score: 12 AP (Writing: 635 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 28
> 
> Base Score: 6 GP (Writing: 635 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 11


	2. Fluorescent Lanterns

The enchanted fireflies next lead the gang of tiny spirits straight toward the distant hubbub of the city. Roads coat most of the nearby ground between it and them, with their stark painted lines and dashes and hot scent of skidding tyres, and mixed in with the streets is also the shining metal rails of a train track, jangling and thundering each time the carriages pass by.

There is no safe way to cross, and even a spirit is wary to dare an attempt. But they have no need to, as Lyra knows the network of underground tunnels and pathways as well as any other place within walking distance of her beloved boundary and even further still - she’d once followed the footsteps of humans along them, begging at their heels, or spent a night or two curled up in their shelter, hiding from **icy** rain.

She heads to the nearest underpass, an old, abandoned one that dips below the road that runs through their park, now used more by rats than the humans who are too busy in their city to venture far by foot. It’s dilapidated and spooky at midday, but it’s not too far out of their way and it can’t be worse than speeding vehicles.

Their **guides** are merciful and allow them the detour, dipping down beneath the Earth’s surface alongside the esk, bobbing their way down twisting flights of stairs and into the dim alleyway. The tiled floors are littered with ripped plastic and scrunched foil, the ceiling cracked and fear inducing as it showers them with a sprinkle of dust, the lighting fake and low, barely hanging on.

No one will **gainsay** their courage after this. Lyra leads the way once more, her black paws brave in their tireless restlessness. Above her, the gross, fluorescent lightbulbs flicker sinisterly, raising the patterned fur along her back and making her pansy curl in fear.

They’re barely a few metres in when they feel the eyes on them. All at once the strip lights stutter and splutter and go completely dark, not even flicking on for another second, leaving the tunnel barely visible in the feeble, misty light of dawn, a gritty **greyscale** image. The group of esk huddle together but keep determinedly moving on after the faint firefly light ahead.

But they can’t resist sliding their eyes side to side, throwing a frantic glance over a shoulder, craning their heads to search. It’s like claws tickling at their minds and they can’t shake their watchers no matter how much they sprint and skid.

Suddenly, a screech - Lyra flails to a halt and spins, torn between cowering back and leaping forward to defend her friends, to find her brave opossum already standing tall in front of a shivering Duck. The tiny black pansy’s single mid-tone eye is straining wide, and her patches of golden fur are visibly shaking. She must’ve gotten distracted and separated, left behind if not for Pearl.

But Pearl’s **wickedly** pointy teeth are bared menacingly, little paws planted strong, tufty fur stood on end. There’s a glowing light coming from the wall she’s facing as if there are fireflies trapped in the weathered brickwork.

Lyra regrets looking closer. The tracks between the bricks are gaping, moving, and as they tear they form a crooked smile and two glaring eyes.

She calls to them, yells above the whimpering, urging her gang to scrabble onward on their tiny paws until they reach the other side. Pearl’s pansies flutter and drop petals from how fast she leaps to order, grabbing esk one by one and hauling them upon her back, teensy claws clicking against the tile as they abscond, quick as a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> greyscale + icy + wicked + guide + gainsay
> 
> Base Score: 12 AP (Writing: 614 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 28
> 
> Base Score: 6 GP (Writing: 614 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 11


	3. Abandoned Spaces

If Lyra wasn’t so angry at them, she’d swear that the swarm of fireflies were looking apologetic with their drooping wings and mournful grey glows. But she is angry, or perhaps a little terrified still and using the anger to hide it, and so she harrumphs and turns her face away as Pearl stomps petulantly along the trail away from the echoey underpass they’d just left, **claws** clacking.

They float along beside the esk’s familiar, as if the gang don’t notice them subtly herding them in their next decided direction, just so happening to be in the way of one pathway when the trail forks. Lyra doesn’t think they can do much about it, and whilst that part sucked, it’s still an adventure and she of course wants to be a part of it.

A line of swaying tail tips **sweep** along the dusty ground as the tiny esk make the most of the opossum’s kind ride after the rush of adrenaline. Their eyes are all a little drowsy but it’s a bit exciting nonetheless.

They’re on the city side of the park now, where the grass is a little more tamed, the bushes slightly more shaped, the flowers more orderly. The tree branches that stretch far above their heads don’t brush low to the ground, the moulted rotting pieces not left to collapse by themselves. Even the leaves on the ground are few, as if they’d been collected and taken away not so long ago, so only the last week’s worth of autumn remains.

Humans are strange creatures, Lyra thinks **wistfully** , faded memories leaving a bittersweet tang in her chest.

The fireflies pause at the next corner and nag at poor Pearl’s dainty ears until she reluctantly leaves the gravel pathway, ducking beneath the waxy leaves of some ornamental shrub. Back here, out of immediate view, it’s slightly wilder.

Uninterrupted by the humans’ ideas of tidiness and perfection, nature drops its leaves with abundance and lets its old branches tumble from the trunk. With her eyes roaming the acorn littered ground to watch a family of wood mice, Lyra almost doesn’t notice the appearance of an old building half buried in the undergrowth of the clearing.

It’s relatively small, certainly not enough for a single human to live in comfortably. It’s more like the miniature houses that they build in their back gardens, to keep their dog or tools or boxes of old memories in. It has moss and ivy smothering its wooden walls, one window with only a few sharp shards of glass left, and a sinking roof barely able to hold up the puddle of clear rainwater that has collected upon it.

It’s silent, **barren** , empty - and the interior they can see through the window is dark. Lyra eyes the fireflies, squinting suspiciously, and they immediately burst forward through the open frame, glowing brighter all the while, until the shed’s inside is brighter than the morning outdoors.

The purple pansy hops on down from her familiar’s back with her family right behind her. She twitches her whiskers and shuffles her paws, and then finally steps boldly forward to the splintered crack at the base of the door, and pushes her nose on through.

It’s a neat little place. There are tall tables along each side on which she can just about see the tops of plant pots and the trailing, unkept vines growing from within them, and the space in between is crowded with a jumble of gardening tools, including a step ladder offering them a way to the tabletops. There’s a layer of mud left on the floor planks with ageing **imprints** of large boots, and more recent rodent paws.

It’s charming, especially lit up with the rainbow shine of the lightning bugs. Lyra turns and beckons her friends in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claws + wistful + imprint + barren + sweeping
> 
> Base Score: 12 AP (Writing: 634 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 28
> 
> Base Score: 6 GP (Writing: 634 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 11


	4. Box of Treats

The other pansies emerge in an excited crowd, tumbling through the small crack one after the other and then splitting apart to explore. Lyra snuffles her way through the cobwebs that hang between shoves and pitchforks, clambers over a box of smaller hand trowels, and inspects the **secrets** buried in the gardener’s shed’s depths.

A clatter and clang behind her signifies Void getting caught up in something again but Lyra pays it and Thimble’s squawking no mind, far more spellbound by the hidden pieces of nature tucked away in the dark nooks. A forgotten seedling has long since overflowed from its terracotta pot and burst toward the sunny window, its golden petals beginning to wilt with the season.

The tiny esk carefully picks the dried flowers, their delicate shapes as beautiful as any fresh bloom, and twiddles their short stalks into a **crown**. It’s placed precisely upon her head.

A tickle on her white patterned back makes her jump, but it’s just a feather that’s floated down from above. She tilts her head and can see higher up, balanced on a cracked beam, the edge of a bird nest made of twigs and grasses and cushioned with feathers. It’s old and not used this year but it was obviously well loved and likely home to a family of barn sparrows.

There’s a **tangle** of moonflower vines looped like Christmas tinsel across the collapsing roof, and her eyes follow the heart shaped leaves to the window they’ve crept in from. It’s only because she’d been looking up that Lyra notices the fireflies’ glows gathering together, along the edge of the table at the back.

It’s darker in that corner where the window’s daylight doesn’t quite reach, so she can’t quite see what has caught their interest. The little spirit is mindful of her crown as she meanders between the tools, catching glances of her friends and their discoveries, the **games** they’re playing in their finds.

She hops upon the spout of a watering can, uses two steps of the ladder, and then leaps the stretch to the tangled fishing rod which leads her onto the tabletop. The bugs part for her to reveal the treasure: a fragile wooden box, dusty after such a long **time** untouched, partitioned into perhaps thirty sections. Each part is stuffed to bursting with yellowing paper seed packets all ordered meticulously.

The fireflies glitter around her, their lights reflecting off the packets edges. The treasure chest looks magical and like it was left here just for them… Lyra is awestruck and reverent as she reaches forward to shuffle through the collection, seeing the fading images of so many varieties of vibrant flowers, cooing over the specifically bred types with their particularly striking colour combinations.

And under V for Viola is an entire stack of pansies. Purples and blues and blacks like her friends, but also soft pink, deep red, stark white, chocolate brown, and glorious orange. And further, mixes of them too - a sunset of yellow-blue-purple, a sunrise of golden-blue-pink.

Lyra grabs the lot and hollers for Pearl’s more dexterous hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crown + secrets + tangle + time + game
> 
> Base Score: 10 AP (Writing: 514 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 26
> 
> Base Score: 5 GP (Writing: 514 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 10


	5. Along the Maze

The city never sleeps and is a pandemonium of chaos on a good day - the pansy esk can hear it from their shrine even past the drone of passing cars that separate their patch of forest from the urban area. It’s not easy to navigate when you’re barely four inches tall, and even less so with a long trailing tail just asking to be stepped on.

There is something charming about the city, though, with all its residents bustling back and forth in their daily routines, brows forever creased with petty worries and eyes always searching for something unknown. Lyra has lived among this mayhem all her life, and the life before that. She’s never understood humans but finds them fascinating, and she’d always enjoyed the attention of the good ones back when they could see her - and pet her.

She brushes away the **wistful** memories and carries on her speedy trot along the gravelly pavement. It’s all **barren** concrete in this colossal human jungle, but if you know where to look you can find little evidences of nature: the tiniest flowers sneaking their way up through the cracks of paving slabs, and the guttering overflowing with a lucky seedling just sprouting, and the weak but determined strand of ivy winding its way up a lamppost, reaching to the sunlight.

They must be a funny sight to anyone that could see them, a line of **nine** : seven pansies of varying sizes walking nose to tail, a large opossum at the rear, and above them the wispy shape of Lyra’s creator, the eery Poesy.

But very few are able to see them, and there’s no call of the Lost nearby to distract them today from wherever the glittering fireflies are leading them now. They cross through the halted traffic, beneath warm, twitching wheels and screaming horns, dodging tall legs of humans and the occasional huffing breath of a leashed dog - the latter Lyra itches to say hello to, but is dragged away by her familiar with gentle teeth on the scruff of her neck.

The headlights and billboards blur around them along with the noise, and the tiny esk are swept up in the swarm of city life. It’s only when the fireflies drift higher and disappear up into the low hanging **fog** that they come back to themselves, and the group find themselves clustered at the base of an electrical pole. Staring up past a tangle of immortal bindweed, they can just about make out a metal sign at its highest point, its edges lit up by obscured firefly glow, and the writing blurry…

They all of a sudden have the most peculiar and urgent need to read it, and clamber on up the moonflower vines and rough wood and handily placed metal steps until they all line up along its sharp edge, the urge dissipated as quickly as it formed, and are instead looking out at the misty view.

The city is criss-crossed with a maze of black wires winding back and forth, an incomprehensible jumble of an uncountable number, spreading like a gigantic spider web across the urban landscape. The lines are broken only by more posts that create busy intersections, releasing yet more wires, and by thick dots along some that are the round bellies of well fed pigeons and **finches** that enjoy the humans’ scraps.

The fireflies glimmer to catch their attention and head on forward, as the crow flies. There is no wire that heads directly that way, and so the group of pansies quickly get to tracing lines with keen eyes, mapping out a route with the least hazardous jumps and buzzing electric boxes to contend with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nine + wistful + barren + finch + fog
> 
> Base Score: 12 AP (Writing: 613 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 28
> 
> Base Score: 6 GP (Writing: 613 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 11


	6. a Kaleidoscope Game

It takes several minutes and what must be at least a mile of tottering along cables and swinging along viney **weeds** , but they finally make it to the end.

The electrical wires loop down to the roof corner of a bookstore and hang low enough that it’s easy for the pansy esk and their opossum to hop one after another down onto the building’s canvas awning for a soft landing - and Pearl’s heavier whomp. From there they’re catapulted straight off to a nearby signpost which they can simply slide down.

It’s a quieter side of town over here. That tranquil atmosphere that old bookstores seem to resonate drifts along the cobblestone road, and even the few hole in the wall cafes are quiet, their patrons settled in with a book or laptop or keeping their chatter quiet.

It’s also more beautiful in this area, where less shoes tread and less litter is dropped, and it’s **whimsical** in its quaintness. There are flower baskets hung along the guttering and big ceramic pots dotted along the pavement, each bursting with life. The crafty little plants that’ve managed to grow among the drains and puddles here are left untouched and untrodden, and Lyra can see several bright dandelions clustered along the walls, their tufty seeds ready to be someone’s **wish**.

They take in the sights of the wisteria covered storefronts and creeping Jenny trailing its way out from the windowsill planters as the gang trot along the peaceful road.

When they’ve passed the last flowerpot the guiding fireflies swing to the right to a covered alley, the ground patchy with puddles that haven’t had sunlight to dry, and only mosses and lichens grow in the low lighting. There’s a couple of doorways along the way, and hung above them are creaking, gentle swaying signs advertising the pub or shop inside.

It’s all **well** and good that the glowing creatures like dark spaces in order to show off their glow all the better, but it would be nice if the dark was less spooky. Lyra sighs theatrically but follows them, trusting that they’ve been (mostly) kind to them thus far and that her opossum will fight them again if required.

The sparks become joyful the deeper they go, their bodies lighting up brighter with each flutter of their wings, and then begin to circle back and loop around the esk as if encouraging them to join in. So they oblige, caught up in the happiness - the pansies speed up to a run and leap about, batting at the lightning bugs and playfully trying to capture them.

Lyra crouches, wiggling her hind end like she’s still in her puppy days, and does an almighty jump right at a firefly she was sure had been underestimating her. She lands it, thudding gracelessly onto the stones with her tiny paws clasped - empty.

She squints petulantly but then jolts back as the stone she’d landed on abruptly lights up, as if she’d pushed the firefly right inside it. The other bugs drift over to see, and then one by one sink down into the paving, one per stone, lighting them up with their glow and leaving a long trail of shining steps leading away in front of the esk.

It’s an obvious invitation. Lyra leads the way again, Pearl bringing up the rear, as they hop scotch through the cobblestone alleyway, the glowing bricks beneath their feet flickering to alternate colours each time an esk lands on them, casting a kaleidoscope of rainbows across the dim, murky walls.

With the **wickedly** haunting darkness waning, the pansies themselves light up with the fireflies’ delight and they make it to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well + weed + wish + whimsical + wicked
> 
> Base Score: 12 AP (Writing: 612 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 28
> 
> Base Score: 6 GP (Writing: 612 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 11


	7. Paper Wishes

The alley opens up into the backroads where it’s yet even quieter than before, with barely a single human in view and the street quiet and empty but for unwanted **picayune** pennies and **breeze** blown autumn leaves. The fireflies are dimmer in the dawn light but no less content as they drift up from the cobblestone road and take to the air once more. They’re slowing now too, perhaps tired after hours of adventure or just wilting now the excitement is coming to an end.

The group passes by the old bookstore they’d seen before, and Lyra pauses at a crate of old, abandoned books with their covers torn and pages crumpled, tossed out on the back stoop, unwanted. The chilly morning wind catches on one as she watches, ripping a few pages from its weak binding and sending them spilling out into the open air, swirling like miniature dust devils.

As if it was planned, the fireflies break from their path and each catch a page. Their magic swells and the sepia papers crinkle, folding in on themselves and curling at the edges until they forms intricate origami shapes, their thin surfaces showing the fireflies’ glow from within.

They continue on their journey as if the interruption hadn’t occurred, floating like paper lanterns released in ceremony. They’re mesmerising and the gang of pansies are enraptured. After Void walks straight into a lamppost for the third time, Pearl trots to catch up and swings each pansy up onto her back to settle amongst the carefully tucked **mosaic** of seed packets, and the group’s pace picks up a little.

The tiny esk are all worn out from such a long quest, their short legs having travelled around so much of the city and park. Their pansy petals are bold and strong with the excess of developed biome magic in the air, but their bodies wilt and their fur is drooping.

In no time at all Pearl’s claws were on soft soil and her head ducking beneath the undergrowth of the city park once more, leaving the towering silhouettes of buildings and the cacophony of the urban sprawl behind them.

The pathways that had been previously lit up and inviting had disappeared to thick vegetation of shrubs and flowers once more, daisies and **cowslips** abundant, golden and red leaves coating the grass. The mysterious magic that had enticed them towards mazes, games, and haunted structures had faded now too. The park was once again familiar and comforting, a little piece of quiet nature among the humans. Cared for, but not smothered.

The fireflies in their paper lanterns pause at the main road, and Lyra at once realises that the sounds of traffic hadn’t followed them out this far. The tarmac is clear and still, warm from recent use but somehow missing its usual crowd. But the lightning bugs are sure and float confidently out of the tree cover, hovering low enough for the pansies and Pearl to touch them with their tiny noses.

It’s as if the fireflies are saying goodbye.

“Let’s make a wish,” Lyra speaks quietly, “and then we can all head on home.”

Her friends all agree and step forward together, onto the white dashed line of the road, and bow their heads and squeeze their eyes in concentration.

I love my family, Lyra thinks fiercely, and I wish that we stay together forever. I am so grateful to know them.

She raises her nose and gently nudges the origami before her into the air to be caught by the soft breeze. It floats higher and higher until she can barely see it as a speck in the distant clouds, and then it’s joined by the lanterns sent up by her family too, to create a galaxy of firefly stars in the clearing above them.

Lyra’s chest is tight, and she hides her damp eyes by scrambling back upon Pearl’s back and tucking her face into the pansies on the scruff of her neck. The others pile upon her like a big hug, all wordlessly in agreement, and then the opossum twitches her long whiskers and strides away.

As the bush closes behind their tails, the rumbling of car engines roars from behind them once more. All evidence of their adventure evaporates like the evening mist.

Well, Lyra corrects herself. Except the seeds she can feel pressed to her side. They’ll be planted around the shrine, she decides. A reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breeze + mosaic + cowslips + picayune + ~~parse~~
> 
> Base Score: 14 AP (Writing: 741 words)  
> +1 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Event Bonus)  
> Total AP per submission: 30
> 
> Base Score: 7 GP (Writing: 741 words)  
> +1 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 1)  
> +4 GP (Event Bonus)  
> Total GP per submission: 12


End file.
